Witchfall (18 page)

Why did Alice have to meddle?

‘Just for a moment, I thought I might have seen . . . a man.’ I tried to dismiss the whole incident as unimportant. And indeed perhaps it was. ‘A man standing out there in the rain. That’s all. Then he disappeared.’

‘What was this man doing?’ William asked intently.

Lucy had come back and was listening too, her eyes fixed on my face. I saw no point in lying. I shrugged. ‘Looking up at the house.’

My brother’s voice was insistent. ‘Did you see who it was? Did you see his face?’

I knew what he was thinking. The hairs crept up on the back of my neck. But I shook my head. ‘No, it could have been anyone. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone.’ I managed a laugh. ‘I . . . I’m so tired after that journey, I might even have imagined him.’

Bessie sent Lucy back into the kitchen for the bread and a bowl of hot pottage. ‘Well, it could have been a poacher,’ she mused, ‘come here a-rabbiting or maybe after one of the deer. Some deer do come out of the woods on bad nights. Or it might have been Master Pollox, the groundsman. He likes to check all’s secure around the place when the wind gets up.’

Balancing pottage and bread along her arm, Lucy came back into the hall. ‘Or it might have been old Jack,’ she offered.

I frowned. ‘Old Jack?’

Bessie laughed and shook her head, stirring the vast pot, then setting it before us. ‘She means old Jack of the Woods,’ she explained, then made a hidden gesture to indicate that Lucy was simple. ‘Folk hereabouts used to call him the Green Man or Jack-a-the-Greenwood, and leave offerings to him at harvest. But don’t pay my sister no mind. She’s a good girl, but she still thinks the faeries brought her, you know?’

Lucy looked annoyed. ‘I do not!’

‘Hush, child, they don’t want to hear those old heathen stories. They’re more used to songs and dancing at court. Go and make sure our father does not need any help in the kitchen. There’ll be the pots to scour, and the oven to heat for tomorrow’s bread.’

Alice had been stuffing her mouth with bread and pottage – I could not blame her for this lack of manners, for it was many hours since we had eaten on the road to Hatfield – but on hearing this, she sat up eagerly. ‘We’ve been so gloomy at court this past year, I cannot remember when I last had a dance.’ She looked from one sister to the other. ‘Do you keep a lute here? Or any instrument?’

Bessie’s face lit up with inspiration. ‘There’s my lady’s lute, that she used when she was a girl. It’s still in the storeroom. Wait, I’ll not be long.’ She hurried out of the hall. ‘You finish up your supper while I see if I can’t find it.’

I was not very hungry, but took a little dry bread and dipped it in the last of the pottage. It tasted surprisingly
good, so I dipped the bread in again. I felt a little guilty that the princess had taken nothing but bread and cheese, but at least there should be a proper meal for her in the morning. There was the sound of feet on the stairs, descending softly, then Alejandro stood in the entrance to the hall.

I looked up at him longingly. It seemed an eternity since that sunlit day when Alejandro had ridden into the grounds at Woodstock, stern in his armour and white surcoat with its red cross. Sometimes it felt as though there had never been a time when I had not known him. Yet our very first meeting had been not much more than a year ago.

Impossible thought!

Alejandro smiled, stepping out of the shadows and into the firelight. He wore a black cap with a feather and carried a book under his arm. His damp cloak and muddied riding boots had been cast aside for a superb black doublet, double-slashed to reveal white silk beneath, and a pair of elegant black court shoes. I noticed that he was not wearing his sword, but carried a curved dagger on his belt instead, its handle ornate with gold and tiny rubies.

He looked every inch a Spanish nobleman, born to lead and command armies – and now that he was to inherit his father’s title and estate, perhaps he might. Certainly, I thought wryly, no one seeing him would ever guess that he was still hoping to be admitted into the fighting priesthood, into the coveted Order of Santiago de Compostela.

My breath caught at the sight of him, heart clenching like a fist under my ribcage. Could this be love?

Sometimes my body ached and I thought,
Yes, this must be love
. In my darker moments though I wondered if it was fear. For no one but Alejandro could ever have the power to destroy me with a single word, to shrivel me up inside like a dead leaf. No, not even Marcus Dent, nor the priests of the Inquisition with their terrible instruments of torture.

Except for a few golden hours, we had been kept apart from each other at Hampton Court. Kept apart by thick stone walls and endless corridors, by constant observation, by the stupid rules and conventions of courtly life. Yet here at Hatfield House there was little to separate us. Part of me dreaded being alone with him here, for I knew how vulner able this secret courtship made me. But another part of me yearned for a chance to know Alejandro better, to return to the halcyon days of last summer when we had spent so many hours in each other’s company.

‘There you are at last, Señor de Castillo. Could you not find the way down to us?’ Alice had turned from the bowl of pottage to admire him. ‘How very Spanish you look. Do you play the lute?’

Sombrely, Alejandro inclined his head. His eyes met mine as he answered her, and I wondered what he was thinking. ‘I do indeed, señorita. To play the lute is a required skill for all young men at the Spanish court.’

‘Such an accomplished priest!’ she teased him, more
talkative than I had ever seen her. It seemed the country air was loosening her tongue. ‘I have seen you dance at court, but can you sing too?’

‘Again,’ he murmured, ‘it has been known to happen.’

‘But that’s marvellous. You sing, you dance, you play the lute . . . and you are an excellent swordsman too, they say.’ Alice looked from him to me, a mischievous light in her eyes. ‘I’m beginning to think you must be the perfect man.’

His smile did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Oh, not perfect, señorita. No man is that. As I’m sure your friend would agree.’

I felt uncomfortable, for that last comment was aimed directly at me. Alejandro was impatient that I had not yet formally agreed to marry him, even though he had given me a year to make my final decision. But how could I marry him? That would mean sailing to Spain with him, meeting his family and perhaps settling in that strange hot country so far away. And my first duty was to the Lady Elizabeth, who was paying for my keep as part of her new household, and she was far from safe, even here in Hatfield.

The danger was not over yet, I could feel it with every step I took in this house. And until whatever threatened her was dealt with, I could not be free to love Alejandro. There was a gathering darkness above this place, a malignancy that had followed us from court on the wings of the storm. I did not yet know what it meant, but guessed it was connected to the vile black shadow I had seen in the
Great Hall at Hampton Court. Was it some kind of spirit-demon, feeding off the hatred and fear that surrounded the court? Whatever it was, this was not a good time to ignore my obligations to the Lady Elizabeth and accept a proposal of marriage.

Besides, I was a little nervous about the prospect of meeting his noble family in Spain.

After all, ours was not exactly an ideal match.

Briefly, I pictured their horrified faces at the family reunion: ‘Mother, Father, I have the honour to introduce to you the witch I intend to make my bride.’ Then I had to bite back my wild laughter, for Alejandro was watching me again, a frown in his eyes.

Blowing out her cheeks, Bessie came hurrying back with the Lady Elizabeth’s old lute. She dusted the instrument off with the edge of her apron, then presented it to Alice, who curtseyed and handed it to Alejandro with a smile and a wink.

‘This old lute belongs to the Lady Elizabeth. I am sure as a nobleman of the Spanish court your skills must be at least equal to hers. Will you play us something, señor?’

The hall was suddenly lit up with a bright white sheet of lightning that flashed through the long windows, illuminating our astonished faces. Its dazzling light was followed almost immediately by a deafening crack of thunder so loud it sounded as if the storm was right above the house.

Alice gave a startled cry and hid her face in her hands. Bessie muttered something about ‘the Devil slamming a
door in Hell!’ My spine stiffened in instinctive warning and I glanced up, half expecting to see some malevolent black creature clinging to the painted ceiling of the hall. But there was nothing to see above us except shadows.

In the tense silence that followed the thunder, Alejandro strummed a few experimental notes. ‘This lute needs to be tuned,’ he remarked. ‘Though it’s not bad for its age.’

At that moment, the door to the servants’ quarters burst open and a grunting black and white pig ran in, closely pursued by Lucy.

The young girl was beating the pig with her apron, shouting, ‘Get out! Get out of here, you wicked, filthy creature!’ while the rain-drenched animal ran round and round the echoing hall, squealing and knocking over a table in its terror. Everywhere it ran, it left muddy trotter-prints behind, like boundary marks on a map, so that Bessie exclaimed in dismay at the mess as much as the confusion. William jumped up with a gleeful shout and joined in the chase, grinning like a schoolboy. Lucy made a dive for the pig as it ran between his legs, but could not seem to get a grip on its slippery body. The pig easily wriggled free and doubled back, its large black ears flopping over its white face, no doubt hoping to escape the way it had come.

‘Begging your pardon, but she must have pushed her way in from the back yard. She’s terrible afeared of the thunder and lightning, you see!’ Bessie explained to us, rather unnecessarily, then ran after the escaped pig in the direction of
the kitchen, berating Lucy loudly as she went, until both sisters had vanished along with the unfortunate swine.

My brother grabbed Alice by the waist and spun her round, pretending to dance grotesquely with her while she shrieked with laughter.

‘Time for a country dance after all that argy-bargy!’ he cried. ‘Play us a pig pavane, de Castillo!’

I looked at Alejandro in disbelief, but he merely smiled at my brother and struck a jangling chord on the lute.

‘Welcome to Hatfield House, welcome all,’ he sang gently, ‘where the rain never stops and pigs run about the hall.’

That night, I dreamed again of the high tower, the wind in my hair, and Marcus Dent with his axe. When I awoke, it was with a fast-beating heart and a sweat-riven forehead, gasping in panic.

I saw now that by leaving court and accompanying my mistress to this quiet country house at Hatfield, I had left myself more open to attack. Marcus Dent, as my brother had warned me, was back and would be hungry for revenge. I did not know in what guise he had reappeared, nor how close he might be to hunting me down. But it was about time I found out.

I have never been particularly brave, and have often felt that if bad news will do me no good, I would rather not hear it. So it was with mixed feelings that I sat down privately with my brother a few days after our arrival at Hatfield to ask him about the witchfinder, Marcus Dent.

Although I had hoped never to hear that vile name again, it had kept cropping up at court, and thanks to my recurring dream of the tower, would not be banished from my mind. After all, if Marcus Dent ever managed to shake off the tongue-tying spell I had laid on him at Woodstock Palace, and regained the power to accuse me of witchcraft, it was better I should know with what strength he had returned. I was also keen to learn, if I could, what Dent had done since writing that discredited letter to the Inquisition, accusing the princess of some forbidden association with the Queen’s astrologer.

It was no idle fear. I knew now that the witchfinder was on my trail again, worrying at me like a dog with a bone. At any moment Marcus Dent might come hammering on the door to demand my arrest. Yes, and the Lady Elizabeth’s too, for harbouring a witch in her household.

‘I want you to tell me everything you know about Master Dent,’ I told William. ‘Leave nothing out.’

We were sitting on a grassy bank under an ancient oak tree, the knotted roots of the tree stretching away in every direction. Behind us lay miles of woodlands and meadows bathed in sunlight where sheep grazed peacefully, calling out to each other from time to time as they ambled about the rough grasslands. Ahead of us stood the pretty side view of Hatfield House, a long building of red brick softened by tangles of ivy and climbing roses, and adorned with high twisting red chimneys which smoked thinly to keep out the autumnal chill. On top of the nearest chimney, the only one from which smoke was not issuing, a ragged crow sat and cawed hoarsely in the sunshine, surveying us with gleaming black eyes.

‘I know almost nothing worth the telling,’ my brother began, then caught my look and sighed. ‘Very well. I do not pretend to understand this power you have, Meg. Nor do I entirely approve of it, for everyone knows that witchcraft is the work of the Devil.’ He picked a long stem of grass and twisted it between his fingers, his expression distracted. ‘But I know your power has served you well in the past, and I have never once seen you work evil with it.’

I waited calmly, guessing from his hesitation that there was something more he needed to say.

‘Except perhaps when you . . .’ William shifted uncomfortably, not looking at me. ‘When you cast that terrible spell on Marcus Dent, the day in Woodstock village when he tried to drown you. I shall never forget it. One minute Dent
was standing there, screaming insults at you, and the next he was gone. Sucked into that black wind you conjured out of nowhere. I don’t know what spell you cast, but it smacked to me of dark magick, of the work of Satan.’

‘Dent would have murdered me, surely you understand that?’ I thought for a moment, trying to decide how best to answer his fears. ‘Look, I don’t know what I did that day either. It just happened. But I can assure you, I am no Devil-worshipper. I am a witch, yes. But I always strive to use my skills for good ends and to follow the same path that Aunt Jane followed, the path of the hearth fire.’